“No, sir.” Cyte straightened up. “Of course not.”
“You haven’t offended me, Colonel. Don’t worry.”
Marcus got out of his chair and walked around the table, brushing papers out of the way until he could see the map. The present position of the Army of the Republic was marked in grease pencil, along with most plausible guesses about where Janus’ army might be, moving slowly down the Pale toward Alves. He found his finger drawn, once again, to a spot not far from their line of march, just this side of the mountains.
“I understand you were fairly close to Ihernglass,” Marcus said.
“Y-yes.”
“He trusted you.”
“I like to think so.” Cyte leaned over the table to follow Marcus’ gaze. “Is there a problem, sir?”
“Ihernglass told me that there were a few soldiers in his command that understood the... full extent of what happened to him in Khandar. He implied that you were one of them.”
“You mean his, ah, more unusual service?”
The hell with it. “I mean magic, Colonel. General Ihernglass told you about magic. The Thousand Names and the Penitent Damned and the whole rest of that Karis-?damned lot.”
Cyte didn’t even flinch. “Yes, sir. We were attacked by Penitents several times during the Velt campaign.”
“Good. I need someone who isn’t going to think I’m crazy. Is there anything important on the schedule for tomorrow?”
“Not particularly, sir. We’re third in line of march, so it should be an easy day.”
“Anything Colonel Giforte can’t handle without you?”
“No, sir.” Cyte looked curious. “Why?”
“I want you to come with me on a little side trip.”
His finger tapped the map again. The tiny castle was labeled in the smallest type the mapmaker had been able to find. Marcus had to squint to read it. Mieranhal.
*
It felt like an invitation to disaster, riding away from the column, even though Marcus had gone through proper channels and informed everyone who needed informing of his brief absence. It’ll be days yet before we’re in any real danger. Even Janus, with his reputation for doing the unexpected, wouldn’t force a march over an inhospitable mountain pass in hostile territory just for the sake of a little bit of surprise. Probably.
He’d fought off all efforts to provide an escort, ostensibly for the sake of morale. This was, after all, still Vordan, and senior officers shouldn’t need guards to ride around the countryside. He was just as happy not to have to explain himself to anyone but Cyte, though. They started early and rode southwest at an easy pace. Marcus was glumly unsurprised to note that Cyte was a far better rider than he was, but an amiable trot down a sleepy lane was a trip even he could handle.
“Have you spent much time in the country, Captain?” he said, as they turned to follow the road around the curve of a hill. The mountains were startlingly close, looming blue and vaguely unreal in middle distance. Between here and there, the land rose into increasingly steep hills, the farms of the flat bottomland giving way to orchards and pasture.
“No, sir,” Cyte said. “City girl for the most part.”
“I’m the same. Closest I got was my time at the War College.” He looked up at the mountains. It feels like I could reach out and touch them. “Pretty, I suppose.”
“Yes, sir.” Cyte hesitated. “Where exactly are we going?”
“Mieranhal.” Marcus waved a hand. “This is all Mieran County. Mieranhal is the county seat.”
“Oh!” Cyte looked around with new interest.
“You’ve been here before?”
“Never, sir. But Mieran has a fascinating history. Linguistically, it’s an isolated dialect, unrelated to the Mithradacii that—” She stopped. “Sorry, sir. I studied ancient history at the University, before the revolution.”
“No need to apologize,” Marcus said. “In fact, I’d be obliged if you’d give me the short version.”
“The short short version is they’re a bunch of mountain people who fought like hell and managed to hang on to their land when everyone down in the valleys was overrun. The Mierantai rulers swore fealty to the Tyrants, and later to the kings of Vordan, but they kept their own customs and language. They’ve been basically keeping to themselves for thousands of years.”
“Interesting.” From a military perspective, Marcus could see it. This kind of hilly country would be a nightmare to fight in, especially against a canny enemy who knew the ground well.
“Yes, sir. They’re supposed to have the oldest surviving examples of preconquest script and architecture.” She cocked her head. “I assume you’re not here for the historical significance?”
“In a way. But I’m interested in more recent history.” Marcus shifted in his saddle, already feeling the aches. “This is where Janus bet Vhalnich grew up.”
“Of course,” Cyte said, sounding irritated she hadn’t made the connection. Her eyes went wide. “You think he might be in communication with someone here?”
“I doubt it, actually. But I’m hoping we can find someone who knew him when he lived here.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to prejudice your opinion,” Marcus said. “But keep your ears open, and I’ll explain later.”
They didn’t reach Mieranhal until well after midday. The roads had an irritating tendency to curve, following the shoulders of the hills to maintain a shallow grade but making it very easy to get lost. Fortunately, Cyte was excellent with maps, and they only had to backtrack twice. Both sides of the road were planted with trees, mostly craggy little apple trees standing in neat rows, their leaves just starting to change from green to yellow. A cheerful young man sitting on a fence post offered them each an apple as they passed, and another for each of the horses. Marcus bit into his as he rode and found it just the right balance of sour and sweet.
Orchards gave way to rocky pastures as they climbed higher, dotted here and there with sheep. Marcus was starting to think they’d taken another wrong turn when they came around a switchback and found their destination looming directly in their path, as though it had snuck up on them. Mieranhal was an ancient stone building, more manor house than true fortress. It had been added to extensively over the years, modern wings sprouting off the original structure, including wooden outbuildings and several plaster-?walled cottages. More orchards and vegetable gardens stretched out behind it, and Marcus saw two girls leading a flock of sheep around the back. As they got closer, several dogs began barking.